Survival Lessons
by leighsm
Summary: Nikita finally learns what it takes to survive in Section.
1. Default Chapter

Nikita finally learned the art of being still. It hadn't come easily. In fact, it was probably the most difficult lesson she had had to master since her recruitment. But she had done it, and she used it now to her full advantage.

Of course, her brand of being still was different from that of Michael's - as well it should be - seeing how opposite they were in personality. Michael adhered to the stone-wall, "I'm-not-really-here", school of blank stares while Nikita was a graduate of the sultry "Come-hither-and-find-out ---- if you dare" academy. Although it didn't, technically, qualify as being still, it concealed her thoughts just as effectively. She had tried to learn Michael's method, but in the end, both mentor and student realized that it just wouldn't work for her. She was too volatile to ever hope of pulling off one of Michael's vacuous expressions.

Nikita had always been antsy, always curious - flitting here and there. Maybe it could be attributed to the fact that she had spent so much of her early life trapped in that gray, lifeless apartment that had been her home. As a child, whenever she was allowed out, it was like stepping through some magical window in time, and the world became her playground. She was always late in returning from errands because she would take her time wandering through the streets in a perpetual daze at all the colors, sights and sounds of the real world.

This was life.

She could feel life's energy pulsating in the streets. Smelled it in the freshly baked bread from the corner bakery, or in the sweet smelling perfume on a passer-by, in the enticing aroma of cinnamon rolls and freshly ground coffee... and her personal favorite - pizza. She heard its voice in the honking of cars, the clicking of shoes against the pavement, the laughter of people having lunch at a sidewalk cafe. She saw its colors in the bright posters and signs on shop windows, in the yellow cabs that wove noisily through the streets; in the white pigeons that swooped down to grab a neglected crumb before taking flight once more. . .

"Nikita."

The images faded from view as Nikita deliberately took her time lifting her lashes. She gazed at the dark haired woman seated on the other side of the desk before her. Madeline was the epitome of still-life form, Nikita thought - smiling on the inside. Outside she continued to stare at her superior with a calm, who-gives-a-sht look.

"Try to pay attention, Nikita," Madeline admonished dryly, like a long-suffering mother would to an impatient child.

Nikita lowered her lashes, fluttering them on purpose, as she smiled sweetly. "Yes, ma'am."

The smile faded then just as quickly as it had appeared and she became all business; posture sliding into alignment, chin raised and eyes carefully void, but alert. "Is there anything else?" she asked.

Madeline watched the transformation with approval, her own body not having moved an inch during their whole briefing. "No, Nikita. That's all - for now."

Nikita sat a moment longer, appearing to be in no apparent rush to leave. She uncrossed her long legs and rose gracefully up to her full height before shifting her gaze over to the corner. Operations stared back at her with a thinly disguised scowl of disapproval as Nikita's left brow quirked up in perfect timing with the corner of her sensual mouth.

"Sir..." She dragged out the consonants, a hint of laughter in her blue eyes, then pivoted neatly and strolled from the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her Operations was up on his feet and pacing. "I swear she grows more insolent everyday," he gritted out. Spinning, he gripped the edge of Madeline's desk and leaned forward, his eyes digging into hers. "She's not worth the trouble of keeping alive, Madeline."

Madeline slanted her head in a forty-five degree angle and returned his piercing stare with one of patience. Bringing her hands together, she sat in repose for several seconds before speaking. "Its not wise to get rid of her yet," she stated calmly. "Besides which, we may need her for Michael."

Operations pushed off of the desk and glared at her. She was right, of course. Madeline was always right. It was one of the things he both, hated and admired in her.

Section was short staffed as it was and recruitment was slow. It would be foolish to cancel a skilled operative solely because he didn't like her. Then there was the debacle with George and Adrian. Oversight would probe even deeper into Section business if yet another operative was killed in action - and this one a Level Two operative.

"Fine," he conceded in a low voice. "I'll leave this up to you, but I will not tolerate any more insubordination from her."

A small smile formed on Madeline's lips as she acquiesced with a single confident nod. "Of course."


	2. survival 2

Outside of the office, Nikita relaxed her facade for a moment. The sass of moments earlier drained from her face and was replaced by a look that was more reflective of the tired state her psyche was in. Ever conscious of unseen eyes - and cameras - she lowered her lashes to hide her emotions. A second later, though, she drew her shoulders back, eyes carefully adjusted to just the right level of casual disinterest as she sauntered forth with a lazy swing of slim hips.

She had hoped that Michael would be back by now but so far there had been no sign of him. After Jurgen's death Operations and Madeline had given her two weeks off. So far Michael had been out of circulation for a month. Although she didn't doubt that he needed this time to deal with the loss of Elena and Adam, Nikita wished he wouldn't do it alone. Who knew what kind of hell he was going through. To lose his son, his wife...

A sharp pang twisted in her chest.

Her eyes shifted over to a group of male operatives standing together talking off to the right. One of them glanced at her and Nikita forced her expression to soften into a polite smile.

She waited till she passed the group before allowing her mind to wander back to Michael. She had considered soliciting Birkoff's help in locating him but two things stopped her. First, Birkoff was already under suspicion for his role in helping save her life. And second, she wasn't all too sure Michael wanted to see her right now. Maybe ever... She was just another reminder of a part of his life that Michael didn't want to be reminded of right now.

The gripping pain in her chest intensified; churning mercilessly within her.

What was it Viscano had said about him? Michael can make you feel like the most important person in the world, and then the next day, 'poof'! You're history. Nikita wondered what Viscano would have to say if she knew about Michael's marriage. Would she have been surprised? Or accepted it as further proof of Michael's inability to care for anyone?

No. That's not true. Michael did care. He cared a lot. Too much, in fact. And thus he taught her another important survival lesson - - - caring brings pain.

"Hullo." Nikita greeted another operative in passing. She couldn't remember his name right off but she had served with him on a mission in North Africa. He had a charming smile and an equally deadly backspin kick. Both had been helpful in attaining closure on that particular mission. She wondered vaguely if Michael had trained him.

'God, Nikita. ENOUGH with the Michael routine!' she chided herself.

Taking a deep breath, she schooled her features into a look of relaxed blandness as she rounded the corner into the armory. As she expected, Walter was sitting at the counter working on some electronic gadget.

"Hey, Walter," she smiled. She strolled forward and perched herself on the stool opposite of him as she slid her PDA toward him.

"Hi there, Sugar" He left what he was doing and checked her list of equipment. "I didn't know you were going out tonight. Solo?"

"Yeah." She gave him one of her innocent smiles. "They just called me in on a replacement."

"The Vercors mission?"

"You familiar with it?"

"Vaguely," Walter responded. He glanced at her as he moved toward the shelf and began putting together her inventory. She appeared normal. He turned and placed the requested equipment on the tabletop in front of her, then paused - waiting.

Nikita did a quick scan before gathering everything up and placed them in the bag that Walter had placed on the table. "Thanks, Walter," she smiled again. "I'll see you later."

"Nikita wait!"

She halted, being careful to keep her eyes neutral as the old man glanced cautiously around. Walter took a step closer and raised a hand to touch her shoulder, turning her so that he could study her face closely. "Nikita, you know that if I could have told you I would have."

Her eyes flickered with just the right amount of confusion before allowing comprehension to dawn. "Oh. You mean with Michael?"

Walter watched her carefully. "Sugar, I'm sorry," he started, then stopped as Nikita leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

"Don't worry about it, Walter," she smiled tenderly, and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"You did what you had to do. I know that."

She turned then and glided from the room. Despite her words and actions, something about her disposition worried him. She seemed too . . . Walter scratched his head a moment. Too what? Calm?

"Aw, hell." Maybe he was just being too overprotective of her.

Out in the hallway Nikita breathed a sigh of relief as she headed toward egress. She didn't like shutting out Walter, but that was the way things had to be from now on. In Section all emotions were a weakness, especially love. She had witnessed first hand how Section used those emotions to its advantage and she had had enough. From now on she was going to make damn sure that they didn't have anymore ammunition to use against her.


	3. survival 3

At first glance, the crowd seemed to throb in unison in a dance that was sensually hypnotic. Blue and yellow beams of light flashed and swung pendulum fashion across the crowded room in perfect sync with the music. The rhythm had a subtle twist on the downbeat that enticed dancers to move their bodies suggestively. Mini fog machines hidden atop mirror-plated poles emitted a cloud of smoke that descended and wafted through the mass of gyrating bodies.

Nikita stood just inside of the club entrance and scanned the scene for her mark. Unable to spot him she prepared to enter the scene before her. She took a deep breath and allowed her body to flow with the music as she made her way leisurely across the room. The click of her red spiked heels against the floor was absorbed in the din but the visual boost it gave to her already long silky legs wasn't lost on any of the males she passed in front of.

She detested playing the sex kitten roles that these recon missions often required of her. Thankfully Madeline and Operations favored her skills as a cold op rather than her skills as a valentine. This didn't bother Nikita any. She much rather preferred being shot at to being hit upon, or, God help her, having to bed a target. So far she'd been able to avoid that aspect of a valentine mission but she knew that the day would come when they would order her to do even that. It was just a matter of time.

Camilla, the valentine op whose place she was taking tonight, had been injured on another unrelated job. Nikita had met her a few times. She was a strikingly beautiful girl but Nikita hadn't cared much for her attitude. Camilla's last target hadn't liked her attitude either, which was why she was laid up in med-lab right now. It could have been worse Nikita thought. She could have ended up on a cold metal slab awaiting the fiery flames of Section's incinerator.

Nikita forced her mind away from the morbid path it had taken. If Michael were here and privy to her thoughts he'd be ordering her in that damn breathy voice of his to stay focus.

But he wasn't here - and she had no idea where he was.

Nikita suppressed the sigh that surged up from within, swallowing it down along with the twinge of pain that accompanied it. Scanning the area once more she sashayed up to the bar ordered herself a drink and concentrated on the mission at hand. It was a simple assignment actually. Locate the target, tag him, and get out. The back-up team would take over from there.

"Hi."

Nikita turned to find a tanned young man with electric blue eyes smiling at her.

"Hi yourself." She smiled and angled her body toward him as her eyes took in his modest attire approvingly. Clean- cut, all-American collegiate looks, and a dazzling smile. Now why couldn't any of the targets ever look like him, she mused.

He stuck his hand out to her and introduced himself, "I'm Steve."

He was new at this game, she could tell. Her expression softened as she placed her hand in his. "Nikita."

"Nikita?" He repeated it and flashed her another bright smile. "Pretty name."

Her smile deepened even as she reminded herself that she was on duty. "Thank you."

Over his shoulder she spotted her target dancing with a tall, buxom blond. Nikita grimaced inwardly. What was it with these terrorists and blonds? Well there was no use in getting philosophical now. She had a job to do.

"Would you like to dance, Steve?"

She could see by his expression that she had stolen his line. Mark one up for feminism and Section training. Hooking her arm through her young Adonis' she led him out to the dance floor and enjoyed the next few minutes of flirtatious dancing as she expertly maneuvered him closer to her target.

Once her mark was tagged she conveniently, if not a little reluctantly, developed a headache and excused herself from her handsome dancing partner.

Worry crossed his baby blue eyes. "Do you have a ride? I can give you a lift, if you like."

Sweet child, she thought. You have no idea of the type of woman you're with. No idea of the sins I've committed, the people I've killed, the dismal life I lead.

Nikita smiled and touched his arm. "Thank you, Steve, but I have a car." She paused, touched by the regret in his eyes "Maybe we'll meet again," she lied, and then disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later she was driving away into the night and wondering what her life would have been like had it been normal.

Would she be married by now? Maybe to someone like Steve? Would she have had children?

An image of Adam appeared, Michael's child. A sense of longing filled her which quickly turned to pain.

Michael and Elena's child.

Nikita rolled down the window and opened up the engine's throttles, allowing her black Porsche to fly through the open road and reveling in the feel of the wind as it swept through her hair and eased the pain of regret from her mind.


	4. survival 4

Morning stole its way into Nikita's apartment much too soon. Her solo the night before had lasted until well past mid-night and she didn't get home until almost three. She willed her lashes to separate, forcing them open. The sunlight stabbed at her eyes like a dozen needle pricks and she shut them again tightly. Groping blindly, she reached down and steadied one hand against the floor as she slowly lifted her head.

"Ooh!" she grimaced and froze as a crick sent a jolt of pain down her vertebrae. Carefully she attempted to straighten her body which was twisted like a pretzel. With another groan she slid her knee out carefully from beneath her and moved her leg as gingerly as she could off of the plastic excuse of a chair she called a sofa and onto the floor. It landed with a thud and was followed immediately by the rest of her body sliding off of the chair and collapsing in a heap on the hard floor.

"Oh sht," she muttered, then moaned.

"Are you always so graceful in the morning?" a male voice asked.

Nikita's head shot up. Lethargic clumsiness vanished as muscles and bones welded into lethal mode, ready to spring. Through the mass of tangled blond hair that fell about her face she zeroed in on her intruder.

Mick sat lounging on the stool by the bar, a silly grin pasted on his face as he crossed his legs and took a leisurely sip from the mug at his side. He was wearing a pair of violet tinted shades with a matching suit and pale pink shirt opened at the collar.

Nikita uttered another expletive. "What the hell are you doing here, Mick?" This was all she needed was to have her low-life, Section informant, neighbor witnessing her early morning debacle.

"Don't you remember, luv?" Mick asked sweetly. "You invited me over last night."

Nikita sat back and folded her legs Indian style. She frowned, her mind clawing back through hazy memories of last night. She had opened a bottle of wine. That she remembered. Inviting Mick over, she didn't. She cast him an ominous stare.

"Oh, alright," Mick conceded as he rolled his eyes and waved his right hand through the air in front of him. "You didn't quite ask me over, but you asked me in, remember? We had tea? Well... I had tea - you had wine. You really should stop drinking so much, you know. It's not good for your health."

"Shutup, Mick," she growled.

Her memory inched back and along with it an important realization. "You mean to tell me you spent the night - - here?" She threw him another threatening stare as he sat smiling back at her. "Why the hell didn't you go home?"

"I did," he answered matter of factly. "This morning. And then I came back. I didn't want you waking up and thinking I just left you!"

"Gee, thanks. You're a real prince."

Nikita groaned and struggled to stand up. She had fallen asleep on the couch. No wonder her body was protesting so loudly this morning. She straightened slowly, teetering a little as she tried to get her bearing. Irritation ignited again as she encountered Mick's grinning face. "What are you looking at?"

"At you, sweetheart," he answered, laughter in his voice.

Her hands automatically felt along the front of her shirt - making sure it was all buttoned and that nothing was showing that shouldn't be. She glanced at her watch and made another face. She was going to have to rush if she wanted to make it on time. Making her way over to the kitchen she removed the cup from Mick's hand and pushed him toward the door.

"Out," she said. "I've got to get ready for work."

"But I wasn't finished with my..."

"OUT!"

"Okay! Okay! I'm going!" he stepped through the door and then turned around. "Hey! Can I come over..."

Nikita slammed the door with a thud and leaned against it as she heaved a sigh.


	5. survival 5 End

Michael was back. Nikita spotted him almost immediately upon her arrival at Section. He was sitting at the com center with his back to her. She didn't need to see his face though to know it was him. There was no mistaking the physique and lines that she knew by heart. Relief rippled over her like a gentle breeze. She hadn't realized until that moment how much she had feared that Michael would not return; that he wouldn't be able to overcome the loss of his family.

Nikita paused and shifted her gaze up to the tower to see Operations standing there, his attention glued on Michael. She changed direction and headed over to the empty briefing table and sat down, purposely avoiding facing the com center.

Once, in what seemed a very long time ago, she had believed that Michael could survive anything because of his ability to lock his emotions away in some lonely corner of his soul. It was a skill that drove her insane on more than one occasion. But in time she came to realize that it was how Michael survived in Section. Then as time passed it seemed as if Michael's ability to compartmentalize had begun to slowly unravel. And it had begun when he had set her free.

'I can't protect you anymore, Nikita.'

That was the first time she had seen a glimmer of genuine emotion in his eyes and it had confused her.

'I never asked for your protection.'

Surprise entered his expression as he gazed back at her. 'Without it you'd be dead by now.'

'You seem to care more about that than I do, Michael.'

Surprise was replaced by a moiety of anger and another deeper emotion that Nikita had been reluctant at the time to acknowledge. 'Why can't you just . . . do the job?'

For Nikita it had been a strange question. Didn't he know her well enough by now to understand the answer to that? 'I can't change who I am,' she'd told him.

Nikita expelled a long breath as she sat back and stared blankly at the wall opposite of her. She had been so naive. In those early days she had believed that justice would prevail; that her innocence would be proven and she would be set free. When that hope was irrevocably dashed, she was ready to choose death rather than continue living in Section. Michael, however, wouldn't allow it. He risked his life time and again to protect her and keep her alive. In the end, when he saw her will to live waver, he risked his life once more and set her free.

Being out of Section, though hadn't brought Nikita the freedom she sought. She discovered that she had seen too much of the real world to ever go back to the blissful innocence of normal life. Instead, being out of Section did the very opposite - it proved what Madeline had said to her, 'You will never be free of Section.'

For six months she fought against the truth; tried to find some way to fit in a world that she no longer belonged too. She struggled to recapture her purpose in life; struggled to find some sort of direction. And during all that time Michael had reached out to her everyday; called to her, 'Nikita are you there?'

_He knew._

Nikita figured that out afterward. Michael knew all along that there was no place for her in the other world anymore but he had let her go so that she could find out for herself. Even then he continued to watch out for her, holding out to her daily the lifeline back to the only world he knew she could now exist in.

Comprehension finally dawned the fateful night she had followed the Freedom League and saw two of their people raise their gun against and unwary Michael. In a flash, without even thinking of any consequences, she pointed her weapon and pulled the trigger twice. The instinct to protect him had come naturally.

That had been a turning point for her and Michael. Standing there in the glow of the fire and destruction caused by the Freedom League their eyes had met and a truth discovered - their life paths were irrevocably intertwined. They needed each other. And this time, when Michael once again reached out to her, Nikita responded.

Nikita closed her eyes as she recalled the night that she and Michael sealed their fate on that abandoned barge she had been living in. Looking back she realized that neither of them understood the power that drew them together that night. They only knew that each had a raw, desperate need for the other in their life and that they had to become one. Their coupling, wild and passionate as it was, was not about love. Rather it was an acknowledgment that they belonged together, needed each other in order to survive.

The year after her return to Section had been a difficult and painful experience for both of them. Michael seemed more determined then ever to teach Nikita how to survive in Section. He insisted on having her learn, sometimes through the excruciating pain of rejection, how to shut off her feelings so that no one would be able to use them against her. 'To feel is to be weak' he told her. Michael didn't want her weak. He wanted her strong. He wanted her to be able to protect herself from Operations, from Madeline, even from himself if need be.

"Trust no one, Nikita."

In return, though, Nikita taught Michael to do the very thing he was teaching her not to do — to feel.

Nikita braced her elbows on the table and rested her chin on top of clasped fingers. She had learned her lessons well and had become stronger. At times the lessons had been almost unbearable, like the time he used her to betray Jurgen, but slowly she adapted. She became skilled in camouflaging her feelings behind her own brand of masks. She changed her apartment to be less revealing of her personal tastes and cloaked her love of life behind the somber grays and blacks of Sections wardrobe. Slowly she learned to compartmentalize. Gradually she became - one of them.

Michael, on the other hand, was struggling. On a mission in the Balkans a terrorists they confronted had said something which, Nikita saw, struck a chord in Michael. 'Me and you, we are the same,' he had said to Michael. We do what we have to do to survive.' His statement had caused something in Michael to snap. She had seen it in his eyes. It was as if he were looking into a mirror for the first time and not liking what he saw reflected back. Michael had raised his gun and shot the man point-blank. Shortly after, and much to Nikita's surprised delight, he began to change. Slowly, but surely, Michael learned how to feel again, to care. Bit by bit he regained his humanity.

Nikita leaned back and swiveled her chair to face the com center. Reviewing all that Michael had had to endure within the past couple of months, she wasn't so sure that teaching Michael to feel again had been the best thing after all. Even from this distance she could feel his pain. Michael - strong, stoic Michael - sat defeated, his hair unruly, face unshaven, body slouched. "What have I done to you, Michael?" she wondered silently, frowning to herself.

With a sigh she stood and strolled across the floor. No matter what happened to them in this insane world they lived in, no matter what falsehoods they were required to fulfill in the name of Section, there was still only one truth. She and Michael needed each other. He had been there to teach her how to survive. Now it was her turn to teach him how to live.


End file.
